


Star Trek: Rogue One

by Fantasticly_Anonymous



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bones is So Done, Chirrut Îmwe is a Little Shit, Developing Relationship, Enterprise To The Rescue!, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Chirrut Îmwe, Gen, Kirk Being Captain, M/M, Medical, Oblivious James T. Kirk, Oblivious Spock (Star Trek), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Planet Destruction, Poor Bones, Post-Battle of Scarif, Post-Canon Fix-It, Refugees, Relationship Advice, Slash, Spock Makes A Friend, Star Trek Meets Star Wars, Storm Troopers, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-06-13 09:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15361317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasticly_Anonymous/pseuds/Fantasticly_Anonymous
Summary: What happens when the Enterprise shows up after the battle at Scarif? With the planet moments from destruction, will Captain James T. Kirk and crew change the fate of the previously doomed Rogue One crew?A fix it Fic and a bit of a ‘what happens when you put these people together in a flying saucer’ character exploration.





	1. Scarif Scarred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea came to me as a cracky little idea and somehow ballooned into its own story. I blame my overactive imagination.  
> Hope y’all enjoy!

“Stardate, Mr. Spock?” Asked the yellow shirted captain sitting in his chair at the center of a banged up Enterprise bridge. 

“Inconclusive, Captain,” came the chief science officer’s answer. 

“Damn it, Spock; where the hell **are** we?” Demanded Dr. McCoy. On deck assessing the bridge crew for injuries.

“Captain, none of these constellations are recognized by our central database,” spoke up a shaken Sulu. Fingers flitting over a navigation station that was giving off intermittent puffs of white smoke. 

“How is that possible?” Kirk asked with a shake of his frazzled head. A hand rubbing across his eyes as he tried to stave off an oncoming time travel headache. “Spock,” he directed toward his first officer’s station, “what _does_ the chrono reader say?”

“There is a single message. Scrolling from the bottom of the readout to the top in a continuous loop. It reads:” Spock paused before looking across to his captain’s expectant face, “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.” 

The entire bridge went quiet. Even Scotty and Uhura, moments ago a flurry of movement as they worked together to try and patch up the communication station’s fried relays, were given pause by the ominous statement. 

They had no idea when, nor _where_ they were. That was never a good place to end an accidental time jump.

“Captain,” Spock started, in a tone which had Kirk sitting suddenly ramrod straight in his chair. “Scanners indicate that the planet nearest our current standing is caught in the process of what appears to be a world ending event. Shall we investigate?”

With barely a moment’s pause, Kirk nodded. “Maximum thrusters, Sulu. Let’s get this thing in our sights.”

“On it. Captain,” Sulu said. Distracted for a moment by a particularly opaque belch of smoke from his station. 

“Uhura, Scotty, how’s the-“

“We’re goin’ fast as we can, Captain. There are a **lot** of fried relays over here!” Scotty said, ending in a curse as a little zapping noise sounded through the bridge.  
Uhura stepping in when the head of engineering paused to shake the tingling out of his poor hand. 

“Alright. But as soon as communications are back up-“

“Back on line, Captain,” Uhura snapped off with a hand to her earpiece. Concentrating on something far removed from the singed electronics she’d just been helping with. 

“At least incoming is,” amended Scotty, flipping a few switches which appeared to do absolutely nothing. 

“There are people down there! Calling for help. But I’m not intercepting any responses. It sounds as if no one’s coming for them.”

“Lieutenant Uhura is correct, Captain. There is evidence of a craft of some sort having left here from a stable orbit only a short while ago,” Spock spoke up. Eyes glued to his readout as data came through faster than most humans could hope to process it.  
“I have readings of dozens, potentially over one hundred, humanoid life forms concentrated around one large complex. Very near the cataclysm’s epicenter,” he ended. Face twitching in his captain’s direction for only the split second it took him to confirm Kirk had indeed heard. 

“They were just fired upon. The test for a new super weapon that destroys planets with the push of a button,” Uhura reported, her look of concentration speckled with dread. 

“Is it a singularity? Spock?” Kirk asked of the science station. Knowing if the answer was yes, that it might be prudent, perhaps even _advisable_ , for him to assign a different officer to the post. No matter the Vulcan’s cool, collected outer image. 

“Negative, Captain. The planetoid appears to have been hit with a destructive force so powerful that the entire surface will soon be disrupted. Followed closely by the extinction of all life, then, with nothing stable to contain it, of the planet’s core itself.”

Kirk nodded. At once aware that many a crew member would think it a mercy for someone who’d lived through a similar event to not have to watch such a fate befall yet another inhabited world, and yet somehow knowing that if he benched his first officer, he wasn’t going to get thanked for it.  
Planetary destruction be damned, Spock was a student of science just as he was a child of Vulcan, and put together, that made him one of the most impassive bastards to ever walk the halls of a Startleet vessel.  
“Sulu, bring us within range.”

Only a tense dozen or so seconds and the little planet was on their view screen. The cataclysm’s epicenter an unmistakable mark of death on the otherwise pristine ball of life, so massive as to be visible to the naked eye. 

Every head turned as the sudden, jarring sound of voices pleading for help filtered through the bridge speakers of a barely operational communication array. 

With a snap to the movement, Uhura sent her hands flitting across her station to right the malfunction, a tight set to her jaw as the hysterical voices cut off.  
“These people are begging for their lives, Captain,” Uhura whispered. Perhaps to fill the following, resounding silence. 

The bridge crew all looked to their captain. Bodies tense as they waited for orders. 

“Let’s get those people on board. Mr. Scott, Chekhov, make it happen.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

“Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir,” came the twin replies as the two began coordinating with the transport departments through the once again functional ship wide communication relay. 

“Alright. Bones, get triage to all transport pads on the double and have all medbays on standby to handle an influx of wounded and-,”

“Already on it.” At the surprised raise of captainly eyebrows, the doctor put his hands on his hips. “You think I don’t know my job?” Then with a scoff, McCoy was off. Turbo lift whirring as it sped him into the bowels of their ship.

“Okay,” Kirk said, tearing his perplexed gaze from the lift doors. Hoping things went smoothly for his head of medical. “Any update on the status of the planet?”

“It has only a finite time left before it’s core will be effected. After which, we must execute a hasty retreat if we are to avoid our ship sustaining incalculable-“

“Noted, Mr. Spock. Mr. Scott?” Kirk asked, looking from science to find the red shirted Scotsman.

“Uh, it’s gonna take a moment to lock on to all those targets, Captain,” Scotty informed, bent over a console near the navigation station. 

“We already have a number of signatures ready for beam up, Keptain,” informed Chekov. “Only because they’re not moving. Probably injured in the initial-“

“Beam them up. Get the rest as we establish locks,” Kirk said. “And let’s pray Bones has his triage in place.”

“He does,” confirmed Uhura. “Standby just confirmed.”

“In that case, let’s get this party started and on the road ASAP.”

To the chorus of a resounding, “Aye aye, Captain,” Kirk rubbed at his eyes once more and began wondering what they were going to do with their new influx of refugees.  
And how in God’s name they were going to get themselves home _this_ time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heehee. So, the concept got ya hooked? I sure hope so, ‘cause I have a second chapter waiting in the wing!  
> Either way, feel free to drop a line and plain lemme know what ya think!


	2. Phew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Kirk does well under the stresses of being captain of a Starfleet vessel. Even when one of those stressors is an inhabited planet literally dying off the port bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, y’all! The response has been amazing! I’m _so_ glad folks are digging this and that everyone has been so nice!  
>  Here’s the next chapter I’ve been promising! Hope y’all enjoy!

A tense few minutes filled with trying to get the bridge up and functioning again, Mr. Scott and Chekov scrambling to enact the pinpoint and rescue of nearly one hundred people in dire need, and navigation hightailing them away from a planet on the verge of self destruction, and Kirk had had just about enough for one day. 

“Status on our new guests, Bones?” Kirk asked through his captain chair’s comm link to medical. Glad his exhaustion wasn’t as obvious as it could have been. 

“All on board and being processed through med bay and into either bunked guest quarters —with a security detail for good measure— or straight to holding cells. In the case of the more... _violent_ ones.”

“Any problems when they came aboard?” Kirk asked. Trying not to sound worried. 

“Not really. The majority of them _were_ heavily armed, with **lazer** weapons, but once they realized we’d saved their skins, those guns were on the ground and their hands in the air.” McCoy chuckled, before adding, “Maybe you can pull the video log later. Pretty funny picture.”

“Guess I’ll have to,” Kirk agreed, figuring the captain ought to know exactly what was going down in his ship anyway. “How’re the guests that came in the first volley? They armed with ‘lazer weapons’ too?”

“...No. Outfits didn’t match anybody else who came through later either. Seem to be a separate group. All badly injured and in surgery as we speak. Speaking of which: I’ll talk to ya later, Jim. I’m sorta busy helpin’ somebody regrow a good deal of skin right now. Poor schmuck looks like he got caught up in a _grenade_ blast.”

And with that the connection was switched off from medical’s side. Probably one of the assistings realized Bones would just keep up the dialog if they didn’t remove the temptation themselves. 

Bones had a _good_ staff backing him up. Or, was _he_ backing **them** up? 

Eh, semantics, Kirk thought as he put his attention back to the repairs still taking place at most stations of the Enterprise bridge.  
Sulu’s navigational unit had finally stopped its unapproved smoking, Chekov’s cracked display had been made safe for use by a thin bead of clear polymer from a fancy tube, and communications was back up to seventy-five percent functionality. 

Not too shabby for a crew who’d just been slung through a time warp and spit out in a different **galaxy**. If James T. Kirk said so himself. 

“Sulu, how close are we to having... bearings?”

“Uh, we’re working out some rudimentaries, Captain, but it’s going to take some time before we can establish anything substantial. Let alone _helpful_ ,” the navigator added under his breath. Causing Kirk’s mouth to twitch up at the corners. 

They were so screwed. 

With a hearty shake of the head, Kirk figured there was nothing for it but to keep up the good work and stick it out till it all became beta shift’s problem and he could get himself some high quality shut eye.  
Too bad all the repairs and excitement would be finished with by then. Beta shift never got any of the glory. Or the fun. 

Hopefully the annoying throbbing in his head would be gone by then as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint: Next chapter’s gonna be longer! ;D


	3. Spock’s Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A planet just exploded. Was Spock as ‘Vulcan’ in the face of that as his Captain thought? Or were Jim’s concerns over the first officer’s emotional well being well founded after all?

On the other side of the Enterprise bridge, a Vulcan too fought to fend off a pressure in his head. A pressure he'd long come to think of as his human half attempting to break through his carefully constructed mental barriers and foist needless and messy... emotion into his conscious thinking.  
A concept Spock was no proponent of, considering the negative consequences that accompanied the few times in his life that his barriers had not been enough to keep his tenacious human sentimentalities at bay. 

With a quick glance spared to the bridge’s center seat, Spock banished the unwanted years old sense memory of his mind and body absolutely _scintillating_ with a bone deep rage, fingers around his captain’s throat, and went back to scanning the data readout from his own station.  
That particular incident he considered his least proud. As a Vulcan, as an officer of Starfleet, and as a friend. He had failed on all fronts in one fell swoop and even all this time later, stranded in an unknown galaxy, in an unknown time, options unsure, he fought to keep his composure at the memory. 

The memory that had been dredged up by his human side at the unexpected sight of the planet they had come out of their accidental time jump nearest... exploding.  
Literally. 

All that remained of the planet was an unnavigable debris field in their rear view and the few score of refugee Mr. Scott and Chekov had been able to have rescued. 

Spock had been amazed that no one had noticed his uncharacteristic gape at the sight of an entire planet **gone** in a single, cosmic magnitude explosion. One his station was attempting to calculate the megaton power of. One it would _still_ be attempting to calculate the power of when alpha shift came to a much anticipated end and he was free to abscond to his private quarters for a spell of much needed privacy and meditation. 

His calm was threatened, he could _feel_ it and he hadn’t been expecting it. The incident had after all been dissimilar enough to the destruction of his home planet that Spock had been expecting a dispassionate, scientific approach would be maintained with ease. But, the explosion broadcast across the viewscreen had reminded his... less logical side of something his _analytical_ side did not enjoy inspecting. Even during meditation. 

At his station, Spock closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing for a moment. Just long enough to push back against the rising tide of unpleasantness the loss of yet another planet, right before his eyes, was threatening to ruin his reputation of professionalism with. 

The clock ticked to beta shift not a moment too soon and Spock was across the bridge and in the turbo lift before another soul had so much as noticed it was time for dinner.  
He only hoped his beta shift science devision counterpart did not notice the faint dents he had inadvertently bestowed upon their station’s metal edge, where he hadn’t realized he was gripping it in... apprehension as the entire bridge crew had watched a planet reduced to little more than another tragedy chronicled in their ship’s logs. 

He doubted very much that anyone who might happen to notice would bring it to anyone else’s attention, seeing as the dents did not impact the functionality of the station, but he would still see to it that they were seen to. At his earliest convenience. 

In the meantime, Spock thought as he entered his private quarters, he had an unsettled half human, half Vulcan mind to see to. 

 

XXXxxxXXX

 

If Spock had had it his way, he would not have been disturbed until it was time for his next shift, but instead, the voice of Dr. McCoy ringing through his quarters pulled him from an exceptionally productive mental space. Inconvenient to say the least. 

“Paging Mr. Spock! Spock, you are obviously in there and I have the place surrounded! Spock, your room tells me you **are** in there; _please_ confirm.”

Finally. A _sensicle_ statement to which Spock could deign a response.  
“Yes, Doctor, I am indeed here.”

“Good Lord, it’s like raising the dead with you,” came the disgruntled response through the speaker by the door. 

“Apologies, Doctor. I was... meditating.”

“Huh. Must be somethin’ _to_ that meditation business. I been tryin’ to raise you for the last, oh, five minutes.”

“You have been attempting to raise me for five minutes?” Asked Spock with no small measure of disbelief. 

“Give or take,” McCoy confirmed. “Off and on too, but yeah. Next I was gonna start whistlin’ Dixie,” the Doctor added in a semiserious tone. “Then I was gonna send someone over there to make sure your room wasn’t lying to my-”

“Doctor, is there a reason for this call?” Spock prompted. Not necessarily pleased with having been interrupted, but interested in knowing the reason for it none the less. 

“Yeah, and it can’t wait. Meet me in my office. I’ll tell ya when you get here.” Followed by a small click as the line went dead. 

Feeling refreshed despite the unanticipated interruption, Spock stood and made for his door. _Not_ grumbling under his breath about a certain doctor as he hit the hallway and began the walk to the Enterprise’s main medbay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it turned out a tiny bit less longer than I’d thought it would. Please take heart in the knowledge that I will do my best to have the next chapter out soon! Hope y’all enjoy your weekends!
> 
> Also: Next chapter will directly concern members of our favorite Star Wars crew!


	4. Our New Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock arrives at medbay and his good ‘friend’ McCoy talks his ears off.

“Ah, Spock, there you are,” McCoy said in a tone the man rarely used in _any_ one’s company. Sounding almost **happy** as he stood from his desk to greet the Vulcan. 

“Yes, I am here as per your _request_ , Doctor. You indicated it was of utmost import-“

“Yes, yes I did, didn’t I?” The medical professional said. At the same time coming close at a rapid rate and moving an arm in a way that had Spock tensing. At the last moment though, McCoy aborted his thoughtless gesture and refrained from putting his arm around the science officer’s shoulders in an overtly intimate gesture Spock had seen him use to ensnare their captain. _Many_ a time.  
“I got a patient here who could use an escort to his new quarters.”

“And you thought the first officer of this ship the prudent choice?” Spock asked. Befuddled by McCoy’s strange logic. If he had indeed employed any. 

Turning to walk him through to the med bay proper, the head doctor paused and this time _did_ initiate physical contact. Albeit, in the form of a pat on one shoulder. Far more acceptable.  
“Yes. You see, you wouldn’t guess it lookin’ at this fella, but his reflexes are _far_ beyond the baseline and he’s not a big guy, but his muscle density readings say he’d hit like one.”

“Hence, a Vulcan for an escort?”

“Good. You’re catching on,” McCoy confirmed with a wry nod. Starting off for the ward again. 

“Why not assign a security detail?” Spock asked, causing McCoy to pause and stay where he was once more. 

“I’ve spoken with as many of our new guests as possible as well as performed and overseen several surgeries, and out of all of those people, _this_ one seems at once the most benevolent **yet** the most dangerous.” The doctor went on when Spock gave him a questioning look. “If he were from our universe,” he said in a hushed voice, “I’d bet he knew Tal-Shaya. _Knew_ it, was **capable** of it, but wouldn’t use it.” 

“You fear him?”

“What? No, you’re missing the point-“ McCoy bit off his words and started over. “No, I don’t ‘fear’ him. I actually think he’s a man of peace, a monk or some such. But I also think you’re the only one on this ship that could stop him without a weapon.”

“Your confidence in my abilities is not misplaced-“

“Is _that_ how you Vulcan’s take a compliment?”

“-but are you sure your suspicion of ‘our new guest’s’ _isn’t_?” Spock asked. An eyebrow raising at the interruption. 

“Let’s hope we don’t need to find out,” McCoy said. Patting Spock on the shoulder for a second time before leading them through to the part of med bay lined with biobeds.

“Chirrut here, is ready for some R &R, so I’ve assigned him a guest quarter and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind showing him to it,” the chief of medical needlessly explained for a second time as they approached a biobed which had both a patient laying in it, and a patient sitting on the next bed over and facing it. Or, perhaps, facing the man laying _in_ it. 

“If possible, we would like a private, shared birthing, please,” the one sitting on the second biobed requested. Not turning to face them as he did. 

“I heard you the first time and I already said that it weren’t no problem at all,” McCoy said. Dipping further into his native Earth accent towards the end of his statement. A phenomenon which generally occurred either when the man was off duty or else was particularly annoyed. 

“Oh yes! I remember that now,” their ‘new guest’ said, in a way which seemed to indicate that he’d never forgotten to begin with. 

“Well, Spock here’s ready to show it to ya, so if yer ready?” McCoy prompted. Sounding as if he sincerely hoped the answer was ‘yes’. 

“Might an old man have his walking stick back?” The one making McCoy’s blood pressure visibly rise asked in an innocent way. 

“Chirrut, I hate to break it to ya, but you’re not _that_ old,” McCoy said. In a matter of fact way. “But I’ll ask our security team about when you can have it back. It’s being inspected along with all the other weapons brought on board during the evacuation.”

“Ah. Yes. The evacuation. Have I thanked you for the rescue and astounding medical care, Dr. McCoy?”

“Yes. _Many_ times. Now, wouldn’t you like to get settled into your new quarters? Mr. Spock can show you the way,” McCoy said with a gesture to a Spock who was simply watching the back and forth. Ever so slightly amused. 

“Oh, certainly; thank you for the kind offer.” At that, Chirrut stood and Spock saw that he truly was not large for a human. Though, he thought with an unconscious, momentary narrowing of his eyes, the man in monk’s garb had a certain... carriage that begged whether that mattered.  
“Though,” Chirrut began, “If possible, Baze and I would prefer a private, shared-“

“I already told you ‘yes’,” McCoy said. Sounding, at least to a certain science officer who had known him for years, like he was nearing the end of his rope. “Yes, ya’ll’re gettin’ _one_ room with a door and privacy and all the bells and whistles _our_ crew get, alright?”

“Alright, Doctor. In that case, I cannot wait to be settled in. If you please, Mr. Spock?” The man asked of his guide in a perfectly polite fashion. 

“Of course. Right this way,” Spock said, indicating the hall that led to the door. 

“Chirrut,” said a voice Spock was unfamiliar with and which, when Chirrut turned back to the occupied biobed, Spock realized was the rough voice of one-

“Baze Malbus, the Doctor told you to rest,” Chirrut admonished. Placing a hand in the larger one laying near the edge of the bed. Out from under the provided blanket. 

“I _am_ resting. I’m still in bed, aren’t I?” Reasoned the man with the impressive amount of facial hair. 

“And you’ll stay there until the kind doctor releases you,” insisted the monk, who’s expression Spock could only describe as a fond, perhaps loving, worried. 

“You know,” Baze said with a conspiratorial twitch of an eyebrow. Prompting Chirrut to lean down closer. “The doctor’s only making you leave because you’ve been driving him crazy.”

The monk straightened rather abruptly at that.  
“Nonsense. Dr. McCoy and I have become fast friends. Haven’t we, Doct-“

“Oh, it’s been a hoot and a half all right,” McCoy cut in. Not appearing amused. “Your new quarters await your inspection, Mr. Imwé.”

“Ah, you see Baze? The doctor and I are on a last name basis. We _must_ be friends,” the monk finished with a gentle squeeze of the... if Spock were to hazard a guess, mercenary’s hand. 

“Don’t get on the new guy’s nerves,” Baze Malbus warned. “He looks like trouble.” To that, Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“ _My_ kind of trouble?”

“Yes, Chirrut, _your_ kind of trouble. So don’t-“

“In that case-“

“-antagonize him.“

“-I’m ready to see our host’s graciously accommodating quarters.” The monk finished with a pat to his friend’s arm, then moved to join Spock and McCoy. 

Ready to show the way, Spock paused at the meaningful look that Baze Malbus caught his attention with. 

“You watch yourself, friend. He’s nothing but trouble,” said the injured man with the wild hair. 

“Oh, Baze,” said the ‘nothing but trouble’ in question. “You know that’s only if I _want_ to be.”

“Then you must _want_ to be, **all** the time,” quipped the recumbent, burly patient. 

“Oh, poor Baze; must be delirious,” the monk said as he continued past the Vulcan to pause by the doctor. “Please, see to his brain. Do not let him continue life as-“

“Myself?”

“...That would be a fate worse than-“

“Death? Were you going to say ‘death’, Chirrut Imwé?” Demanded the admittedly rather dangerous looking man in the biobed that was beginning to beep faster. 

“Well, Mr. Spock, shall we?” Chirrut said. Ignoring the disgruntled question. 

“This way then,” Spock said, starting off for the exit. The two of them leaving the medical professional and the probable gun for hire —or perhaps ‘professional protector’, now that Spock gave that option a thought— to their grumblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first look at how the Rogue One crew is doing. The first of many!
> 
> Also: What’d y’all think of Chirrut and Baze’s characterizations? It’s the first I’ve ever written for them, so I hope they came across well!


	5. Spock And Chirrut Take A Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you put a Mr. Spock and a Chirrut Imwé on a long walk in a spaceship together? Let’s find out!

“Oh, one of our new guests, Mr. Spock?” Asked a Captain Kirk that Spock had nearly walked headlong into. As the captain had been walking _into_ Dr. McCoy’s office just as the Vulcan had been walking Chirrut and himself **out**.

“Jim?” Spock asked, nonplussed to see the off duty captain. Especially directly in front of what was perhaps the place on the ship the man avoided most vehemently. 

“I was eager to check in on the situation down here. And, of course, to see how our new guests were recovering.” The captain paused to give the monk by his first officer’s side a looking over. Seemingly pleased by the novelty of the robes.  
“You appear to be well, Mr.?”

“Chirrut. And you would be...?”

“Hm? Oh, right,” Jim said with a self deprecating smile. “I’m James Kirk, captain of the Star Ship Enterprise and best friend to my first officer, Spock, here,” he finished with an unnecessary flourish of one hand, indicating where Spock was standing not two feet from either of the other two. 

“Oh, well it is an honor to make the acquaintance of the generous captain who saw fit to save the forgotten souls on the surface of a doomed planet.” 

“Uh,” said Jim as the monk inclined his head in a grateful bow. “You’re welcome, Mr. Chirrut.”

“Well, wonderful to meet you, but I am tired and I hear your first officer is to show me to a wonderful room I have been assigned,” the monk said, just as unconcerned speaking with a captain as he seemed speaking with the ship’s head physician. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of _that_ ,” Jim said, neatly sidestepping Spock to offer Chirrut a parting handshake. Appearing amused when the robed man simply continued gazing at him politely. “Oh, right, my apologies,” the captain of a starship apologized as he retracted his hand to instead offer a bow. 

“There is no need for apologies, Captain,” Chirrut said with a mirroring bow. “I thank you once again for your generosity in your rescue efforts and your medical staff’s expertise. Without which, for me at least, the rescue effort would have only been so helpful.”

Spock felt an eyebrow raise as he wondered as to the nature and extent of the monks injuries at the time of the planet’s intentional destruction. 

“You’re welcome, Mr. Chirrut,” Jim said with what may have been the same question on his mind. Judging by his expression. “I look forward to seeing you in the halls.”

“That would be a pleasure,” Chirrut agreed. 

“See ya, Spock,” Jim said with a ‘have fun with that’ smirk and parting, ‘friendly’ clap to Spock’s upper arm. Which confirmed for the first officer that the captain was indeed in a good mood, as the contact imparted a quick glance into Jim’s most superficial thoughts.  
Spock wondered, as he gestured for his charge the direction they were to take, whether Jim was aware just how sensitive a Vulcan’s touch telepathy was. And that it didn’t always matter whether it was the Vulcan initiating the touch. 

As he and Chirrut began down the corridor, Spock shook his head and decided that the application of logic to this particular puzzle would not garner him the answer. Just as logic applied to a game of three dimensional chess against the captain rarely led him to a checkmate in his favor.  
Jim was simply too illogical. 

“I sense that you and the captain share a strong bond. One tempered by years of service and trust. It is... refreshing, to say the least.”

Spock studied the face of the monk walking beside him. Not sure what to think of this perfect stranger’s unsolicited analysis of he and Jim’s... relationship.  
Before they reached another turn in the corridor, he decided an artful sidestepping of the issue most prudent. “If I am not mistaken, you and your Baze Malbus also have a long history together. You’ve served the same order? Or temple?“ 

The small smile that spread across his walking companion’s face had the quality of answer in and of itself.  
“The Force is strong with you, Mr. Spock. You are correct; Baze and I spent many years in service of the Temple of the Whills, as guardians of the sacred texts and of the since stolen kyber crystals.”

“The kyber crystals are religious artifacts?” Spock asked, noticing Chirrut’s somber amusement when he did. 

“Yes, and no,” the monk said with a small smile. “In their pure form, yes, but when they are coveted for their other, more destructive properties and refined into weapons, those who wield them may lose sight of their origin.”

“They become tools and their meaning is lost?” Spock posited. 

“That is the unfortunate reality,” Chirrut confirmed. “And the reason that Baze and I can no longer serve our temple. _Have_ not for years now.”

Spock was vaguely aware that the two of them were walking with similarly relaxed, amicable postures, but at the direct mention of the monk’s former temple, he noted Chirrut’s shoulders tighten minutely and the few lines on his face sharpen _just_ noticeably.  
Even having taken into account Dr. McCoy’s concerns about their ‘new guest’, however questionable, Spock saw no reason to worry. Those were completely normal phenomena for a humanoid when in the process of inspecting unpleasant memories. He only hoped he himself was not mirroring his walking companion thusly as he opened his mouth to offer his sympathies. “I too have lost a home to the ravages of a tool whose original purpose was forsaken for revenge.” 

Chirrut inclined his head some in a gesture that imparted understanding. “I suppose ones such as ourselves should take comfort in the knowledge that we still exist. Fore, as those who can act as examples of our cultures, if we are lucky, perhaps we can help others remember as well.”

“Well said,” Spock agreed, thinking that the venerable Ambassador Spock, with his many decades of hard won wisdom, could almost as easily have been the one who had spoken the sentiment.  
The thought was almost... comforting. 

They walked a ways in silence. Both cogitating. Spock doing his best to not contemplate the many myriad ways that things might have turned out differently had his home planet not been eradicated by a madman with the power to reduce a heavenly body to little more than a cosmic ripple. How different _he_ might be were his mother still alive. 

As they rounded the next corner, Spock held out a hand to indicate the turbolift that they were to take to reach the correct floor and raised an eyebrow when their ‘new guest’ did not turn in its direction nor stop walking.  
“We have reached the... ‘elevator’,” said the perplexed Vulcan as he wondered why the monk had not heeded his visual instruction, even though his eyes had appeared to be scanning in his direction at the time. 

“Oh, wonderful! No stairs for these old knees!” Chirrut said with a smile, sounding more pleased then Spock thought there was reason to.

As the two of them approached the lift door, Spock thought back on the entirety of his and Chirrut’s interaction and found a pattern. One that included much ‘scanning of the environment’ but very little ‘looking’ from the blue eyed man. Which brought Spock to a fascinating conclusion. One for which the science officer in him begged an answer.  
“Excuse me if this comes across as insensitive, but is that a standard eye color where you are from, or are you, in fact, blind?” Spock asked as the two of them entered the waiting turbolift. 

“Ha! I thought that the good Doctor McCoy would have informed you! I am blind as a bat, it is true,” Chirrut confirmed with a nod. Not perturbed in the slightest. 

“Then, is the intermittent, high pitched noise emanating from that box hanging slung across your body a form of echolocation?” Spock asked as he pushed the button for the correct floor. 

“Oh?” This time, a look of surprise formed on Chirrut Imwe’s face. Soon replaced by that same smile from before. “I was wondering whether those ears of yours were just for show. I should have known better.”

Spock felt himself brought up short by the observation. 

“Yes. The Force has given me a pretty clear look at you. I think it’s trying to tell me something,” the monk added in a whisper, leaning minutely closer to the science officer. As if attempting to share some form of secret. 

“What do you suspect it is that this ‘Force’ might be attempting to ‘tell’ you?” Spock asked. Far more curious than he believed he might have sound reason to be. 

“That we should be friends,” Chirrut said. Lips pulling back to reveal a set of strangely amicable looking teeth. Ever so slightly blunted around the edges. 

The man must have been a vegetarian. Not dissimilar to Vulcan kind in that regard. Especially when factoring in the extrasensorial perceptions and observations he’d managed just in the short time they’d walked together.  
Quite uncanny. From someone who appeared so very human, at least. 

“This ‘Force’ you speak of, is a facet of your religious beliefs?” Spock asked. Rather surprised to find his interest piqued. Blaming it on the pastime theologian in him. 

“Yes. Yes and a little bit no,” the monk said with a convicted nod. 

“If it is no inconvenience to you, I would very much like to know more about this ‘Force’ of yours.” 

“Do not worry, brother, the inconvenience will be wholly yours,” Chirrut said with what Spock could only describe as a mischievous smile. 

Fascinating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit at the end about Spock being a theologian is in reference to the OG Star Trek episode The Way To Eden, wherein he mentions his fascination with the religions and or religious philosophies of other cultures. :D  
> I hear a lot of people don’t particularly like the episode, maybe because of all the clear allegories to hippies and youth culture of the time, but I personally had great fun with it!
> 
> Hope y’all had fun with Chirrut and Spock’s walk and talk!


	6. Meeting Baze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim may have it in his mind that he is prepared for every eventuality, but our intrepid captain has never met one Baze Malbus before.

Kirk shook his head, still entertained by his bumping into Spock while the guy was essentially on babysitting duty. The fact that the baby in question was probably at _least_ Spock’s age —and Vulcan’s always looked young for their age— not making the situation a lick less funny. 

As Kirk walked through the door to Bones’ office, he shook his head a second time at the situation and at how much he found he already liked the new guy _being_ babysat. He had cool clothes. And **really** cool eyes. 

“What’s up, Bones?” Kirk asked as soon as the office door shut behind him. 

“ _There_ you are, Jim! What took ya so long?” The doctor asked with a cross-armed smirk. 

“You _just_ called,” Kirk reminded his seemingly amused friend. “And I’m here **now** , so: what’s up?”

“Oh, you know, just running our _entire_ medical division on little more than a catnap and a prayer,” the doctor said while pretending to wipe sweat off of his forehead. 

“How are our new guests doing? Are they shocked by the technology?” The captain asked, deciding he wasn’t annoyed at the doc because he probably would have made his way down there even if he hadn’t been asked. Ending with a proud glance around at the med office interior. 

“Not so much as you might hope,” McCoy said with a hint of sympathy, which helped blunt the sting of disappointment Kirk felt at the news. “Aside from the transporter and medbay, they weren’t all that impressed. Except by how clean it is,” Bones ended with a chuckle. 

“Well, I guess this galaxy has more than just advanced weaponry to their credit,” Kirk said, allowing himself the low swing in spirits at the knowledge that his ship hadn’t left their guests completely awestruck. 

“‘Advanced’ my foot,” McCoy said, a well worn scowl coming to his face. “These poor people were laser blasted, blown up, and plain old beaten to within inches of their lives. Ain’t nothing advanced about that,” he ended in a grumble. 

“Uh, I was referring to the planet killer weapon, Bones.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that one _was_ pretty impressive.” Bones begrudged, crossing his arms a little harder as his mouth took a downward turn. 

“So... am I here for the update, or was there something more you needed to see me about?” Kirk asked. Knowing full well that _both_ of them had very important things that would soon again need **them** doing them. 

“Yep. Ya see that feller just left with your first officer?”

“Yeah,” Kirk said. Pretty sure Bones had _seen_ him see the new guy. Considering the door was **right** over there. 

“Well, there’s another one of him and I didn’t wanna send _both_ of ‘em with Spock.”

“Didn’t want to give _both_ of them the impression that the ship’s run by a bunch of aliens who talk like living dictionaries and never smile?” Kirk asked while he suppressed a wry smirk. 

“Naw, just didn’t want the two of ‘em ganging up on him and stirrin’ up some sorta rebellion on the way to their ‘private, shared quarters’, McCoy said with a look of disdain etched deep into his face.  
Rather becoming on him. Really brought out the natural crabbiness in his eyes. 

“Really, Bones? The little guy in the hall? Against _Spock_?” Kirk chuckled, in the most disbelieving tone he possessed.

“Yes, ‘really’ Goddamn it,” McCoy snapped, inching closer to the captain of the ship with his disdainful face firmly in place. “That ‘little guy’ has one of the freakiest bodies I’ve ever seen, alright? He might not _look_ like all that much, but there’s something... **inhuman** about him.”

“...And his friend?” Kirk asked, resisting backing away from the intense stare. 

“...Naw,” Bones said, finally relaxing. “That guy’s a big teddy bear. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless,” the doctor backpedaled with a smirk, “that fly tried to take a bite out of his _husband_.”

“We picked up _married_ troublemakers?” Kirk asked with a bit of a gawp. 

“Well, _they_ didn’t say it, but it only takes seeing them together in a room to **know** it,” McCoy explained, quite sensibly. 

“Uh-huh. Hey, uh, Bones?”

“Yeah, Jim?” 

“Why, _exactly_ , was it that you asked **me** down here?” Kirk asked. Entertained by the ‘ _now_ you wanna talk work’ look it got him. 

“Same reason I asked Spock: So that high ranking officers who have diplomatic training as well as excellent marks in hand to hand combat could escort our guests to their quarters. _Separately_.“

Kirk couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Me? The captain of the ship? Why-“

“Because you’re right for the job, okay? Now stop jabberjawin’ and you come say a friendly little hello to your new guest,” McCoy insisted, taking Kirk’s arm and directing him for the medbay proper. 

By this point in their long, _long_ , ‘friendship’, Kirk knew the best way to react to being dragged around by his very own, self-appointed, ‘personal physician’ was to just go with it. So he did and his arm stayed in his socket where it belonged and before he knew it, he was watching a well built, scruffy man just finishing up fastening the closure on the second of his big, clunky boots. 

Bones let go of his arm and that was more hint than he needed. So he stepped close enough for introductions and tried not to study the newer new guy’s clothes as he opened his mouth.  
“Ah, you must be Mr. Chirrut’s...” He left the end of the sentence blank, interested in how their guest might fill it in. 

“Actually, he’s _mine_ ,” the burly man corrected with what felt distinctly like a warning glint in his eye. 

“Oh, right, _absolutely_. And-“

“And that Mr. Spock is yours, right?” The large man asked with a pointed look that Kirk didn’t understand. 

“Hm? Oh, yes. Yes, Mr. Spock’s my-“

“Good. Then we can be friends.” Then, with a considerably less hostile glint in his eyes, the refugee from a doomed planet stepped forward and shook Kirk’s hand. Something his Mr. Chirrut had chosen _not_ to. “I’m Baze. Malbus. Dr. McCoy tells me you’re to show me to Chirrut and my room?” 

Kirk could do nothing but blink for longer than he liked as he processed all that Mr. Malbus had just **told** him. _Him_. The captain of the ship that’d just saved his and ‘his’ Mr. Chirrut’s —and every other person’s, for that matter— life from that Godforsaken planet-  
Oh. Right. Kirk thought as he glanced over at a Bones who looked like he was having the best time of his entire life, arms wrapped around himself as if the self imposed hug might somehow keep at bay the rib busting laughter Kirk could see hiding just under the surface. 

Bones hadn’t mentioned who he was to their new guest. On _purpose_. Though, to be fair, he wasn’t sure telling this Mr. Malbus would make much difference. Guy looked like he didn’t much care for chain of command anyway. 

So, the famed Captain James T. Kirk cleared his throat, squared his shoulders... and made a polite gesture toward the exit. “Kirk. After you.”

“Heh, I like the service around here,” Mr. Malbus said as he swaggered his way past his hosts and out of medbay proper. 

“Huh. Managed to leave a good first impression? Guess there _is_ a first time for everything,” jabbed a smug doctor who Kirk would **definitely** be ignoring for the rest of the day. 

 

xxxXXXxxx

 

Out in the hall, Kirk found Mr. Malbus standing with his eyes closed, looking as if he was concentrating on... something. 

“It’s this way, right?” Asked the big guy as he held a gloved hand out, pointing with his entire hand down the hall. 

“Uh, yep. How- how did you-“

“Let’s go then.”

“Wha-“ Kirk found himself half-jogging to catch up when his escortee took off at a determined, double time march. “What’s the hurry?” He asked as he fell in next to the man with the bouncing, scraggle of a mane. 

“ _You_ want to leave those two alone together. Without supervision?”

Suddenly remembering quite clearly what Bones had insisted about the danger potential of the ‘little guy’ Spock was no doubt giving an oblivious, ‘fascinating’ guided tour, Kirk muttered a quick, “Point taken,” and took the lead. 

 

xxxXXXxxx

 

They arrived at the designated birthing sooner than Kirk thought possible. Especially considering his ‘new buddy’ —as he was _sure_ Bones would be calling him later— hadn’t taken ‘No, the Jefferies Tubes will **not** be faster than the _Turbo_ lift!’, for an answer. Twice. 

He’d finally gotten the guy to listen when the both of them had pulled themselves out the second hatch and he’d managed to pin the ruffian between a convenient wall and his side long enough to get a full sentence past his winded lungs.  
“There’s a _reason_ it’s called a ‘Turbo’lift!” Then, when he’d gone on to explain approximately how long it would take them to get there, crawling through the walls as they were, versus them standing in a lift that travelled at higher than previously thought safe velocities, the weirdo had shoved him off and walked calmly to the nearest lift door. 

“Well? What’re you waiting for? Take us to our people,” Mr. Malbus said in a tone which very much made Kirk want to drop the ‘Mr.’ from his name. 

Thankfully, when the two approached the birthing door, it opened up without a pause, recognizing Mr. Malbus as one of the couple assigned to it. Otherwise, Kirk wasn’t sure the man with the thuggish physique would have let the fact that it was closed stop him from _getting_ in.

Soon as the captain and the cad poked their heads in well enough that they could make out the seating area, and the Vulcan and monk seated at the comfortable looking chairs therein, they each breathed a sigh of relief. Even if Kirk had very little idea why.  
Then, when the pair of them heard what it was ‘their people’ were talking about, they ended up paused right there in the entrance. Both bringing an exasperated hand to their own face and giving their head a shake. 

“Why does he **do** this?” Kirk asked as he looked back up and into the room. 

“Now he’s got him-“

“-Talking _religion_?”

“-right where he wants him.” Kirk raised an eyebrow at that and his fellow eavesdropper explained with, “Chirrut can go on and on about the Force until the nerf’s come home and the moons come out.”

Almost as perplexed by that... novel sentence as he was by the sight of Spock deep in the throws of a philosophical conversation with someone who wasn’t _him_ , Kirk brushed past his ‘new buddy’, stepped into the room and struck a captainly pose. Confident that his authoritative presence alone would be enough to break the two from their ramblings. 

A few feet behind him, a throat was cleared in a low, conspiratorial way, so he glanced back at Baze who was now leaning on one side of the open doorway. 

“Chirrut’s blind.”

“Oh,” Kirk said, thinking that that explained a few things, before moving several steps over and striking his pose a second time. Now _sure_ that he was in Spock’s general line of sight. 

“Captain,” his first officer said as he snapped to his feet.

Kirk held in a smirk at the look of surprise he was _pretty_ sure he caught before Spock’s face reverted to its Vulcan resting state.  
“At ease, Mr. Spock, we’re off the clock for a _little_ longer.”

“What brings you here? Is there something-“

“He was just showing me the way to my room,” Baze spoke up from over by the door as he let it shut behind him. 

“Baze? The good Doctor McCoy let you go so soon?” Mr. Chirrut asked as he too rose from his seat opposite Spock’s. 

“Yes. And now I’m tired and I believe it’s time that our guest-hosts be on their way. I’m sure they’re very busy just running the ship without having to worry about a couple old trouble makers.”

Judging by the way he could _see_ the signs of somebody in dire need of a good night’s sleep on both trouble makers’ faces, even though the guy in the really cool robes’ smile was showing no signs of stopping, Kirk figured it was absolutely time for him _and_ Spock to skedaddle. So, bopping the stoic guy on one shoulder, he led the way out and away from the shared birthing and in the direction of the nearest mess hall. 

Before they got more than a few steps though, Kirk decided that if Spock asked him about his escort mission, he was lying through his teeth.  
Yep. He’d say he and Mr. Malbus had had a completely normal, unhurried, ‘pleased to make your acquaintance’ walk and Spock would be none the wiser.  
That is, unless Bones pulled the security feed. And sent a copy to his first officer.

Yeah, never mind. He was **so** screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha! Oh, Baze, you crack me up! Anyone else think that, deep down, Kirk really had a jolly good time chasing his new buddy around? Good break from captaining, if nothing else. :D


	7. Evacuation, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baze and Chirrut are lucky to be alive. Baze is acutely aware of that fact.  
> He’s also acutely aware that this is the first opportunity they’ve had to sleep in a comfortable, _clean_ room in... years actually. So he’s taking full advantage while the offer stands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference made to one of my favorite _ever_ Star Wars books, Guardians Of The Whills, by one of my favorite **ever** comic book writers, Greg Rucka.  
>  It’s technically housed in the youth sections, but is a beautiful Chirrut/Baze (barely any squinting required there) story which builds up backstory and leads us almost directly into Rogue One.  
> I basically loved it.

Baze managed to get Chirrut settled down much faster than he usually could after the guy got in a good pontification over the many, **many** virtues believing in the Force was bound to bring to one’s life.  
Especially considering the one being pontificated to, in this particular incidence, had actually _wanted_ to hear all about it. Had even looked fascinated. Gone as far, as Baze could tell, as to ask for clarification and offer his own observations, when applicable. 

“Oh, Baze, I believe I’ve made a new friend on this ship,” the excitable monk said as he _finally_ settled himself down onto the bed and allowed Baze to arrange the cover over him. 

“Mm-hm,” Baze began, bending over to give his religious zealot a goodnight kiss. Pleasantly surprised when a hand cupped the back of his head to keep him there for a second. And a third. 

“And he’s already taken. I know, no matter how much you’d never doubt me, that fact must please you,” Chirrut said in a teasing voice as Baze walked around the foot of the bed. 

“It’s not _him_ I’d have a problem with,” Baze said as he stretched himself out and under his side of the covers. “No, I think you have an admirer. And I think that admirer is a shameless playboy.”

“Oh, the captain? Baze, you worry too much,” said Chirrut as the two of them attempted to get their backs to adjust to the foreign feelings of having a soft mattress underneath them. “Besides, you didn’t see them together the way I did. Absolute devotion. They couldn’t take their eyes off each other.”

“How could you tell? You’re-“

“Not blind to the brightness of their connection, Baze Malbus,” the monk said in a cheery tone. Sighing contentedly just as Baze did; both of their backs having given up the protest and relaxed at the same time. 

“Chirrut?”

“Yes, Baze?”

“Go to sleep, you sentimental old fool,” Baze said, unable to keep the smile from his voice. 

Chirrut hummed good naturedly before responding with, “Love you too, you sentimental old fool.”

The two of them fell asleep chuckling. 

 

xxxXXXxxxXXXxxx

 

As Baze laid dying on the Scarif battleground, watching the only person he really cared about dying not thirty agonizing feet away, he was not afraid. He could still _feel_ his other half, the guiding light that kept him on the path of righteousness. Baze could still feel the good influence of his lifelong friend pushing him not to despair, and not to give in to the fading of his life force. Not yet. 

His hazy vision sharpened some as he thought he saw more movement from Chirrut than that of the wind fluttering a robe sleeve.  
He was moving- _Somehow_ Chirrut was moving; turning towards Baze, able to sense him through their bond if not through that fickle thing known as the Force itself, and it looked as if he wanted to say something. 

Knowing there was no way either of them had strength left to throw their voice that great a distance, Baze instead looked to Chirrut’s hand, where it turned out it was already trying to get his attention. 

Baze, a man who knew they had minutes left if they were _lucky_ , concentrated all his remaining consciousness into decoding the temple sign that every guardian of the Whills had learned in their training, which proved difficult through the soot his sweat was dripping into his eyes.

Two repetitions and Baze was confident both that he had read it correctly, and that Chirrut had gone delirious in his last moments. For what the man’s fingers were insisting, *Rescue here. Love you always.*, couldn’t possibly be true.  
Except the last part. Baze had never doubted that last bit. In fact, he wished that Chirrut had the ability to see it when he lifted one shaking, gloved hand and mirrored the sensical portion of the sign right on back. Wishing his other half could only perceive the message. Somehow. 

When a small, strained smile broke out on Chirrut’s face, Baze coughed on a blood tinged chuckle, knowing that his counterpart had indeed, _impossibly_ , received his meaning. 

Comforted by their ability to communicate, to make each other **smile** , even perched upon the precipice of death, Baze allowed his body to relax into the dirt beneath. There was, after all, no need to keep up the struggle if there was no hope of survival. He could still see Chirrut, and that was all he could ask for. At the end. For a little company and... Wait a second. Why was Chirrut glowing?

Then, without warning, a sudden bright light obscured Baze’s view of the battlefield and the sole person upon it for whom he cared, and he blinked hard to clear his eyes. No such luck. But when he glanced around at himself, Baze realized that the strange glowing was affecting him as well. 

They were getting too old for this sh-

In an instant, a stranger than fiction feeling of not existing at all came and went, leaving Baze as disoriented as he’d ever felt in his relatively adventurous life. Instinctually he knew that the explosion concussion was not solely responsible.  
No, the fact that he was suddenly laying on a smooth, inorganic, hard surface inexplicably dotted with lights, inside a room he’d never before seen the likes of, surrounded by a squad of people dressed in bright, primary colored uniforms who looked like they’d never seen a mercenary before, told him it was more than the blood loss as well.  
He wasn’t on Scarif anymore. 

When that thought made his heart clench, Baze swallowed a nascent, grief stricken scream and remembered that he hadn’t been the only one bathed in white light on that dying planet.  
He tore his eyes from the open expressions of shock on the collection of overwhelmingly young people in front of him to look instead beside himself, where he barely held his tongue back from thanking the Force and any deities that might be listening because... Chirrut was with him. No longer smiling, no longer conscious, but **there** all the same and all Baze wanted was to reach out and touch him; check that he was alright. That he was still-

“Oxygen! One of them’s stopped breathing!” Baze felt something inside him grow fainter as he searched for the one who had confirmed his worst nightmare. A woman, blonde and of similar age to the rest, a blue dress with a triangle where one would wear a symbol of their loyalty, opened her mouth to speak again. “Let’s move it people, I’m not losing a patient just because we’re in a new Galaxy! Standard procedure, go, go, go,” she insisted as she climbed the steps up onto the platform and bent over the closer of them. 

As she ran a handheld machine up and down Baze’s upper body, frowning in a way that showed the depths of her concentration, the other blue clad, fresh faced crew began, finally, to stir.  
When the doctor, as the woman clearly was, pulled out a second machine, Baze, aware his other half’s life force was fading farther and farther from him, waited for her eyes to meet his before croaking the most important plea of his life.  
“Him first.”

The doctor stared at him for a moment, before giving him the most private of nods and straightening. “See to him,” she ordered, with a gesture in his direction, to the first group to follow her onto the platform. 

“Yes, Dr. Chappel,” the group snapped in unison as they descended upon Baze, who ignored the medical staff when they began asking questions of him. Too busy tracking the doctor’s progress. 

“Oxygen, Doctor,” said as what had to be the youngest member of a medical crew he’d ever seen hopped the steps and handed over a device which Baze thought _resembled_ a small breathing mask. 

“Excellent. Now, gurneys,” said the doctor as she fitted the devise to Chirrut’s face. “And make sure the operating rooms are fully prepped. I have a feeling this is only the first round.”

As the nurses and orderlies and other staff rushed around the room like a pack of very organized, headless banthas, Baze found his focus centered on the two people who were staying still. **Willing** the unmoving, robed chest of his monk to draw breath back into those lungs; to bring back the comforting, calming presence of his-

And he was back. Baze felt the other side of the connection return, strong as ever, even before he saw the movement he’d so desperately needed to see.  
The relief he felt, the threat of the grief he’d _narrowly_ avoided living with for the duration of his life, was so powerful, that Baze’s vision blotted out. When his hearing followed, he realized that more than likely, it was actually the good old fashioned blood loss catching up with him and that he’d better not fight it this time. 

He just hoped this strange ship had his type on hand.  
And a sense of humor. Otherwise, when Chirrut woke up, they were getting kicked off at the nearest inhabitable planetoid. 

 

xxxXXXXxxxXXXXxxx

 

Baze woke with a well suppressed start, barely jerking at all, rather used to having his sleep interrupted one way or another. He’d taught himself to be quiet about it a long time ago. For several reasons. The biggest of which being that for the longest time, he’d had Chirrut sleeping near by and-

Baze snapped his head to the side and closed his eyes in relief when, on the other half of the bed, Chirrut laid safe and sound. Face no longer smudged in grime and blood. Only bathed in the same gentle sort of darkness as the rest of the generously proportioned room their new hosts had granted them. 

Hoping that the echoes of his dream receded soon, Baze reached out a hand and laid it gently atop his monk’s chest. Comforted by the tactile reassurance that Chirrut still drew breath. 

“Baze?” Asked someone Baze had most certainly thought was fast asleep. 

“Yes, Chirrut?”

“Go to sleep, you sentimental old fool,” said the one person Baze couldn’t imagine life without. 

“Love you too, you sentimental old fool.”

Once again, the pair fell asleep to the sound of their own chuckles. This time, snuggled close enough to touch. Each comforted by the feeling of the other’s heart beating strong under his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh how I wish that these two had survived Rogue One! What am I saying? Of course they did!  
> Now if only Jyn and Cassian and- agh wait. So did they!
> 
> And at long last: Next chapter will feature Jyn and Cassian! Hopefully that gives us _all_ something to look forward to! :D


	8. Evacuation, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyn and Cassian are in bad shape after transmitting those codes. They know the planet doesn’t have long. They know _they_ don’t have long.  
>  Here are their final minutes before the Enterprise’s fateful interference.

On a Scarif beach, right off the pleasant lapping of its crystal clear salt water, sat a rebel and a captain, clutching to consciousness with just as much tenacity as it had taken to drag themselves out from that tomb of an Imperial library and out into the light of the fading sun. The world around them alight with the bright flashes of explosives and blaster fire as it was awash in the serene yellows and reds of a tropical sunset. 

The ozone smell indicative of countless weapons discharges hung heavy in the air, even as a sea spray breeze ruffled their hair and reminded them what a beautiful planet the Empire had chosen as its depository for the most heinous and heavily guarded of its secrets.  
A beautiful planet that was about to be brought to an abrupt and absolutely unjust end. With them sitting front row for the show. The show of a lifetime. 

Jyn felt as Cassian took a shuddering breath and finally allowed himself to release some of the tension from the knotted, angry muscles along his back. Relaxing that last bit so that he was truly relying on her to keep him upright. And though Jyn knew she wasn’t in top form herself, she was glad there was at least this much she could do to keep the beaten and bloodied man comfortable. In their last minutes. 

The bangs practically plastered to one side of her head with quickly souring sweat were rustled by what could only have been the hot breath of a whisper. 

“What?” Jyn asked of her companion. Finding she wasn’t hearing well over the echoes of the many recent, close quarters explosions. Still ricocheting around inside her head as they were. The roar of the rolling waves not helping matters. 

“I mean, I never expected the end to be so peaceful. For me.” Jyn strained to listen as Cassian paused to breathe through a cringe. No doubt doing his best to hide how much his battered body was effecting him. “I always thought I’d see myself die with a knife in my back or maybe a blaster in my hand. Like in all the old Jedi stories from before the rise of the Empire.” When he stopped again, Jyn glanced over in time to see Cassian lick some of the red from his lips. Then she put her eyes front once more and tried not to shudder at the sympathetic tang of blood she tasted on her own tongue.  
“Never thought I would die watching the sunset... with a friend.”

“And I never thought I’d join the Rebellion. Let alone lead a rebel squad into Imperial territory, steal my father’s plans for his booby-trapped Death Star, kill the man who killed my mother, and still have time to _make_... a friend. And yet, here we are. My sidekick,” she said with an upward curl to her parched mouth, even as she felt her own body waver as the captain leaned more of his trembling weight into her side, “a beautiful sunset, and... the knowledge that today, _we_ beat the Empire.”

“Overall, not the worst way to go out,” Cassian said. Before twitching his head away from Jyn’s to spit some blood onto the fine sand. 

At least he wasn’t swallowing it. Not _all_ of it anyway, Jyn thought with a shudder as she heard him do just that.  
“Know what would make this better? If my father knew we’d made it,” she said. With a thick swallow of her own. “That all of his- That his life’s work wasn’t all for nothing.”

“Don’t worry, Jyn. He knows. He’s here.”

Jyn’s brows furrowed at the nonsensical notion, but she glanced over when she noticed movement from where Cassian had his hands folded in his lap. There, one of his less bruised fingers was pointing off in front of them. Off toward the ocean. Where the waves shimmered in the waning sunshine. And the green, familiar outline of a human hovered just above the break of the tiny waves. 

The breath caught in Jyn’s chest as her face froze in a gawk. 

“He wants... to tell you something.”

Gobsmacked by the sight of what appeared to be her very, _very_ dead father, not twenty feet in front of her, Jyn couldn’t find it in herself to look over at Cassian nor spare the attention to worry over the way his voice was getting reedier.  
She couldn’t tear her eyes from the green, almost hologram like likeness of Galen Erso. Hovering right above the sand now. It having somehow closed half the distance without her noticing. 

Jyn felt her heart pounding in her chest and still could do nothing. Not until her head swam and she was forced to either relax her diaphragm or pass out. Thankfully the decision was taken out of her hands as her survival instincts kicked in and drew breath into her lungs for her. 

“Father?” She asked. Feeling a hint of surprise at the warble in her usually steady voice. 

The ghostly image nodded. “I’m so very proud of you, my Stardust.”

“Papa?” The only thing Jyn could get passed the lump in her dry throat. 

“Your mother is here as well. She’s come to see you.” The image of Galen Erso said, quite calmly, before he held a hand out to his side and a second green glow grew around it. Larger and larger until an entire silhouette formed and suddenly, Jyn was looking at her long, **long** lost family, standing together and happy right in front of her. 

“Look how you’ve grown,” said the mother Jyn had never forgotten the fighting spirit of. “Our little rebel; taking on the Empire and showing them what for.” The ghost held up a fist in a victorious gesture. One which the first phantasm mirrored with a chuckle. 

“Mama, Papa, I- This planet is dying and we don’t have long,” the rebel said as she indicated the captain against her shoulder. The warble of her voice growing as she realized he was no longer conscious. And that he wouldn’t be waking back up.

“I’ll join you soon,” Jyn promised. A whisper into Cassian’s close ear. Then she turned back to the parents she’d said a screaming, sobbing goodbye to two decades previous and took a moment to fill her aching chest.  
“We’ll be together again. The three of us.” Jyn blinked hard against a darkness welling up somewhere behind her eyelids and forged on with the biggest smile her bruised face would allow. “The planet’s almost gone and when it is... we’ll finally be a family again.”

“No, Stardust, I’m afraid we have a bit of a wait ahead of us,” the glowing, green manifestation of her _father_ said with a sad smile. Which widened when his wife squeezed her husband’s arm where she was holding it. Just as she had so many times in life. 

“Your time, _thankfully_ ,” the shimmering afterimage of Lyra Erso said, voice encouraging, “is a long time from now, in a galaxy far, far away.”

“What?” It must have been the echoes of explosions in her ears again. She can’t have heard that right. 

“We love you, Stardust,” Galen said with a crinkle to his eyes. 

“I love you too,” Jyn insisted. Meaning it with every fiber of her tattered, life-hardened being. 

“And we can’t wait to see what kind of amazing adventures you take on next,” her _mother_ insisted with an earnest nod. 

“We’ll be with you every step of the way,” promised her father. 

Then, together, the couple with the green glow smiled a small smile and spoke once more. “May the force be with you.”

And then there was a white, blinding light all around Jyn. So bright that she couldn’t even see the captain laying against her. Couldn’t see her parents anymore. Couldn’t see the inside of her eyelids when she felt them close against the overwhelming-

And then it was gone. And she and Cassian were exactly as they had been before.  
Except that the sand had turned to solid plastic and metal, and the air no longer tasted of death and salty sea spray. And her ears were ringing louder than ever. 

“...Stretchers... Medbay three...” 

Jyn opened her eyes as she felt the floor vibrate with approaching footsteps. Someone was coming close. Someone wearing a bright blue shirt, who’s dark skin and short cropped hair made thoughts of the small blaster she’d taken off an expired Imperial trooper disappear in a burst of fond memories.  
“Saw?”

“...” She didn’t catch whatever he’d said, but as she concentrated, his face came into focus from where he was crouched in front of them. And that’s when Jyn realized that he wasn’t Saw Gerrera.  
And that she still wasn’t dead.  
Then the ringing of explosions quieted and she could hear the murmur of others milling nearby. 

“It’s alright,” said the man in blue, catching her attention once more, “you can let go of him. We’re here to help.” The man’s impassive face would have her think that there was absolutely nothing wrong, except that he spoke in a tone laced with urgency. 

“What?” Jyn asked, having not the foggiest what he could possibly be talking about. 

“Your friend. He needs medical attention. As do you. If you let him go we can see to you bo-“

“Where are we?” Jyn demanded. Even as her head swam. And she lost all sensation in her fingers. Then hands. 

“You are aboard our ship and we have the means to help you. Please, let go of your friend so that we may begin treatment.”

Finally the meaning of the _doctor’s_ words soaked in and Jyn managed to loosen wooden arms from where she hadn’t noticed they’d gripped completely around Cassian in a protective embrace. 

Then, as other blue clad physicians swarmed Captain Andor, the first one —the one who still reminded her ever so slightly of her old mentor— pulled a whirring machine into her field of vision and started fanning it in all directions.  
At least the thing, and indeed the man himself, seemed harmless enough. 

“...Dr. M’Benga.”

“What?” The rebel asked around another bout of echoed explosions. Which seemed to worry her new friend. 

“I said that my name is Dr. M’Benga. What is yours?” His mouth formed the words with more overt motions than before. 

“Embenga? Jyn. Erso.” She held out a hand after a beat, realizing this was the time that one offered a handshake, but instead of Dr. Embenga taking hers in his, Jyn took her own head in _both_ of hers. As it was exactly then that her damnable ears chose to remind her just how loud some of those Imperial weapons had truly been. 

For a moment, all the rebel heard was the roar of fire, all she felt was the heat of something deadly going off far too close for comfort. Then... something inside her head, something near an ear perhaps, **popped** , and with a sudden _wrenching_ pain, everything went quiet.  
Even her mind. 

Jyn felt herself slump under the weight of her own used up body, felt a pair of steady arms keep her from the unforgiving floor, then she felt herself wink out.  
Like the last stubborn star in the face of a new sunrise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m honestly surprised it took until this deep in the story to even _touch_ on these two.  
>  Also surprised over how long that unexpected hiatus turned out. Yikes. Sorry ‘bout that.  
> Hope y’all enjoyed the update and please take heart; the next chapter should be much sooner in coming than this one! :D


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